Tobacco Tin and A List

This line from Toni Morrison's Beloved spoke to me yesterday morning for two reasons:

1. The metaphor of the tobacco tin as a box where memories are stored with the hope that they will not come out. Perhaps the central theme of Morrison's book is the ontological status of the girl Beloved: is she a ghost come back to haunt Sethe or is she a memory?
2. The list of things in the tobacco tin is, in a way, a type of poetry that reminds me of Sei Shonogan's Pillow Book. The Pillow Book is a private journal that later became public. Among other notable contents, Shonogan elevated the list to a sort of poetry. Here in Morrison's list of things Paul D wants to keep out of his memory, there are several distinct items. These items include eight people, a taste (iron), a smell (butter), and a texture (notebook paper).